Chapter Text
Standing alone in the flowing crowd, Dana Scully gripped her knapsack tight. The well-worn canvas bag jostled off her shoulder as a man bumped past, offering nary an apology. She stepped away from the locomotive and removed from her skirt pocket a letter. The tattered note had made the journey across the Atlantic twice and contained heartfelt greetings from her older sister along with directions to Willhaven Manor.
Dana’s skirt was dingy from her travels through unpaved streets, and her bootlaces always seemed to untie themselves. Her bright red hair laid in a lopsided braid, limp from travel. Be that as it may, a sense of poise and sturdiness suffused her essence. Her cheeks were ruddy, and her mother had always said that she looked younger than her seventeen years.
She recognized no faces as she walked along Dooley Street. The Irish neighborhood didn’t remind her of anything. Boston was a bustling city of smokestacks and tenement buildings, and she’d never heard the word ‘industry’ before arriving in America. The air was heavy and gray with particulate.
A group of laborers ambled by. “Oi, gorgeous!” one yelled.
She had been warned about big city men by her sister’s letters. Never respond, that was Melissa’s advice. Dana blew a raspberry, hastened her stride and turned a corner. She tried not to grin, but the corners of her lips rose a little.
Leaning against a street lamp, a young boy wearing a flopsy gray cap bellowed: “Miss! How ‘bout a paper?”
Her voice croaked from disuse. “No, thank you.”
Across the street, a sea of signs on sticks, ladies’ hats and sashes swelled as the group marched in unison. The crowd of about seventy-five women chanted with banners raised high above. Some pedestrians stopped to watch, while others continued past.
“What’s happening?” Dana asked the boy.
“It’s a picket.”
“What’s that?”
He tried again. “A strike.”
“But, why are they doing it?” Dana asked.
“Fair wages, less hours? I don’t know,” the boy said. “Maybe they want the vote?”
Dana’s callow eyes followed the congregation as they marched in solidarity. Curious. After a moment she unfurled her father’s pocket watch, eager to arrive at the Manor by supper.